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Sunday Dinner
Written for the Sunday Drabble Challenge

by Geek Mama
November 6 , 2005

Appearances were deceptive, and though Elizabeth had been as quiet and colorless as James had ever seen her all through dinner, he cringed inwardly as the Governor’s guest spoke fatal words.

“I declare, I am quite sorry we make our departure at so early an hour tomorrow, and will thus miss the great event. How happy you will all be to see the last of the scoundrels hanged!”

Oh, my God. Of all the birdwitted…

The Governor stiffened, but Elizabeth paled, white as the table linens. There was a horrid silence as she glanced up at the three of them, and then she stood, abruptly. “Forgive me. I cannot stay.”

James stood, too, as she swept from the room.

“Have I said something amiss?” the idiot widow said, astonished.

James said to Swann, “I’ll go to her.”

“Thank you, James,” said the Governor, and turned to soothe his confused guest.

*

“She’s gone out to the gardens – perhaps out to the point, sir,” the Governor’s butler had told him, looking worried.

As well he might.

James strode out the library’s French doors and followed his betrothed.

The afternoon sun shone brightly, but there was a cool breeze. It rustled through the trees and shrubbery of the gardens, and blew chill across the headland where he found Elizabeth standing, hugging herself. She looked smaller than was her wont, against that vast backdrop of blue and silver.

He slowed as he approached, and came to stand close beside her, but he did not touch her, and she did not look at him. There was a long silence between the three of them: James, Elizabeth, and the shining sea. But finally she spoke, her voice not quite steady.

“Would it help if I went on my knees before you? If I begged you to spare him?” She turned to look up at him, still pale, her eyes bright. “I am quite willing to do so.”

“Elizabeth!”

She heard him, the pity and admonishment in that one word. Her lip quivered, and she firmed it; an errant tear slipped down her cheek, and she dashed it away. She turned to the sea again.

She was not hugging herself now, and so, after a moment, he dared to take her hand. It was cold and slender in his larger, much warmer one and, though she did not respond, neither did she pull away. But beyond this he could not go. It seemed to him that there was a distance set between them, one that could not be breached. Not now.

Perhaps never.

After a time she took a deep breath, and straightened.

He gave her hand a very slight squeeze. “I…I have made him a promise. He will be buried at sea.”

The hand trembled a little. When she spoke, her voice was rough with unshed tears. “Not at the Cay?”

“No. Nor in chains by the Thames.”

She looked up at him, then, and he could see she understood: it could have gone that way.

She gently withdrew her hand. “We should go back. Mrs. Greene will be speculating, no doubt.”

“Elizabeth…” he began, then hesitated. But she raised a cool brow in inquiry. “I wish you will not go tomorrow. There is no need for you to attend.”

He only wanted to spare her, but he could see immediately it had been the wrong thing to say. A hard look came into her eyes.

“You are wrong, James,” she said, her voice quite steady now. “There is every need.” She held his gaze a moment, then turned away, saying, “Come. Let us return to the house.”

~.~

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